Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Boulder
I wake up startled, disoriented for a few seconds by the weight pressed against my chest.
It takes a few seconds before my sleep-clouded brain registers it's Kelsey, her body curled against mine, her breathing deep and even.
The early morning light filters through the blinds of my clubhouse room, painting stripes across her.
Her hair is splayed across my pillow, tangled from sleep, and her face looks younger, more peaceful than I've ever seen it.
I allow myself a moment to look at her—something I've never done with the women who've passed through my bed.
They never stay the night, and I never want them to.
That's been my rule since day one.
Yet here I am, with Kelsey tucked against me like she belongs there.
The thought sends a jolt of panic through me.
Last night changed everything—claiming her in front of the club, bringing her into my space permanently, promising protection.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I’m not the kind of man who does this—I fuck them, and they leave.
Yet, here I am, deep in this shit with her.
I carefully disentangle myself from her, trying not to wake her as I slip out of bed.
She makes a small sound but doesn't wake, instead curling into the warm spot I've left behind.
The sight does something strange to my chest, tightening it in a way that’s uncomfortable.
I grab a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, heading to the bathroom to shower.
The hot water helps clear my head, washing away the confusion that's threatening to cloud my judgment.
I'm a prospect.
My focus should be on earning my patch, proving myself to the club.
Not playing house with a woman I barely know, no matter how much she gets under my skin.
But last night, hearing her story... the courage it took for her to turn in her own father, knowing what it would cost her.
Few people have that kind of backbone, that kind of moral clarity.
I've seen hardened bikers look the other way for family—blood above all.
Not Kelsey. Not when the crimes were so unforgivable.
I dry off and dress, running a hand through my damp hair.
When I return to the bedroom, she's still asleep, and I take the opportunity to check my phone.
Three messages from Amara, sent just minutes ago:
0700 meeting. Chapel. Bring coffee. You look like shit when you don't get caffeine.
At least she's not still pissed about yesterday.
I glance at the time—0615.
Enough time to grab coffee for both of us and check in with the brothers on watch duty.
I scribble a quick note for Kelsey, telling her I'll be back after the meeting and not to leave the clubhouse alone.
I hesitate, then add my burner phone number, in case she needs to reach me on that one.
It's strange, this feeling in my chest—like I’m responsible for her.
I've never had to think about someone else's whereabouts, their safety.
Even with my sister, she has her husband to look after her.
I'm the one who passes through, the one who doesn't stick around.
Now I'm the one someone is depending on.
I head to the main room, finding it surprisingly busy this early in the morning.
Brick is sprawled on one of the couches, clearly having crashed there after his watch shift.
Python and Razor are at the bar, heads bent over a map, speaking in low tones.
"Morning, prospect," Python calls without looking up. "Your ol’ lady still sleeping?"
The term catches me off guard. Not because I'm ashamed of claiming Kelsey—but because it feels too right, too quickly.
"Yeah," I answer, moving toward the coffeemaker. "You both gonna be in the meeting at seven?"
Razor nods, rolling up the map. "Lots to cover. Your girl complicated things."
"She didn't ask for this shit," I say, more defensively than I intend. "Some asshole sent me that text about her."
"Interesting timing," Python muses, watching me closely. "Just when we're dealing with Andrés and Sally's bullshit."
I pour coffee into two travel mugs, adding sugar to mine, leaving Kelsey's black the way I've seen her drink it, and make a note to drop it off in my room in case she happens to wake up while I’m in the chapel. "You think they're connected? Her brothers and our problems?"
Python shrugs. "World's full of coincidences, but I don't believe in 'em much."
I don't either, which is why the timing of that text makes my skin crawl.
Someone wanted me to know who Kelsey really is, wanted to expose her.
But why? And who?
When it’s nearly seven, I enter the chapel with my coffee, finding Amara already seated at the head of the table.
She looks tired but alert, her eyes tracking me as I take my place. "How's your girl?"
"Sleeping. It was a rough night."
She nods, taking a sip from her own mug. "I bet. It’s not every day you claim someone, find out she's on the run from psycho brothers, and discover daddy dearest is the kind of monster we put down without a second thought."
Before I can respond, the door opens and the rest of the officers file in—Python, Razor, Axel, and Zorro, the Sergeant at Arms, whose critical eyes miss nothing.
I've always respected Zorro, maybe because he reminds me a bit of my old man—quiet, observant, and deadly when necessary.
Once everyone's seated, Amara starts. "We've got multiple situations developing. First, Andrés. The warehouse hit sent a message, but he's gone dark since. No movement at his known locations, which means he's either lying low or planning something."
"Or both," Axel adds.
"Second," Amara continues, "we now have Kelsey—or Cady Warlow, whatever name she's using—and her brothers potentially in our territory. We need to decide how to handle this without compromising our other operations."
Zorro leans forward, his weathered face serious. "Any news on Sally?"
The question hangs heavy in the air. I almost forgot about the bitch.
Sally Bernard—mother of Seraphina, Turmoil's old lady from the Vegas charter.
The woman's been on a crusade against the club since her husband was killed years ago.
"Nothing," Razor says grimly. "Been quiet for two weeks now."
"That's what worries me," Zorro says, his fingers drumming on the table. "Sally doesn't go quiet unless she's planning something big. Last time she went dark, she was trying to pull shit off in Montana."
"You think she sent that text about Kelsey?" I ask, the thought having nagged at me since last night.
Zorro's eyes shift to me, assessing. "It’s possible. She's got eyes everywhere. Might have recognized your girl from when she was still Cady Warlow, making the news for turning in daddy."
"Either way," Amara interjects, "we need to know more about these Warlow brothers. Axel, I want you to contact our Montana charter, see what they know. Razor, get our contacts in the police to run background checks. I want to know everything about these fuckers—criminal records, known associates, their fucking shoe sizes if you can get them."
I pipe up. "We don’t need the police. I have access to a website that’ll give us all this shit."
Amara cocks her head to the side, “All right, then you can do that and see what you can find out about the three of them—Sam, Craig, and Benji, is it?”
I nod, but take an opportunity to speak. "I want to approach the brothers directly, if I’m given the chance."
All eyes turn to me, surprise evident on most faces.
Amara raises a single brow. "And why the fuck would we let you do that?"
"Because I've claimed Kelsey, which means this is personal. I can make it clear she's under club protection now without making it an official club action. Keep it looking like a territorial boyfriend, not a club enforcing boundaries. Less likely to escalate."
There's a moment of silence as they consider what I’m saying.
"It's not the worst idea," Razor admits reluctantly. "Keeps our options open."
Python counters, "And puts our best prospect in potential danger."
Axel cracks up. "Aw, are you sure you didn’t wanna write that on a card and give him some chocolates?"
Python clenches his jaw. "Go fuck yourself."
"I can handle myself," I say firmly, breaking up the bullshit between the two of them. "I just need to know where to find them."
Amara studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Fine, Boulder. But you don't go alone. Take Brick with you. And this is a warning only—no engagement unless absolutely necessary. We clear?"
"Crystal."
"And no telling Kelsey," she adds. "Last thing we need is her panicking or trying to interfere."
I hesitate at that, not liking the idea of keeping secrets from her, especially about her own brothers. But I nod.
Club business is club business.
"Now, onto Andrés," Amara continues. "We need eyes on all his known associates. Zorro, get our prospects rotating more surveillance duty. Boulder, you're exempt for now, given your... new responsibilities."
Part of me wants to argue that I can handle both, but I know better than to push my luck.
Besides, Kelsey needs protection, and right now, I'm it.
The meeting wraps up after another thirty minutes of logistics and planning.
As everyone files out, Axel claps me on the shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Never thought I'd see the day. Boulder the Pussy Slayer, claiming an ol’ lady. Hell must be freezing over."
I shrug him off. "She's not my ol’ lady. It's just protection. Just don’t let anyone else know that, okay?"
He laughs, not believing me for a second. "Sure, brother. And I'm the fucking pope. I've seen how you look at her. Just don't let it mess with your head too much. We still need you to focus on club shit."
I mutter something and head back to my room, coffee in hand.
The door is slightly ajar when I reach it, and I push it open to find Kelsey sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, looking at her phone with a furrowed brow.
She glances up when I enter, tension evident in every line of her body until she recognizes me.
Then her shoulders relax, just slightly, and something in me warms at the knowledge that my presence makes her feel safer.
"Morning," I say, motioning over to her coffee I sat on the bedside table. "Thought you might have needed that."
She picks it up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Thanks. Been up long?"
"Club meeting," I explain, sitting beside her on the bed. "Lot to discuss with everything that's happening."
She nods, taking a sip of coffee. "They talking about my brothers?"
"Among other things." I watch her face closely. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than expected," she admits. "Your bed's more comfortable than mine."
"Our bed now," I correct her without thinking.
When her eyebrow raises, I backtrack slightly. "For as long as you're staying here. Which, before you ask, is until we figure out how to deal with your brothers. Non-negotiable."
She looks like she wants to argue, but instead sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this, Boulder. I never wanted anyone else at risk because of me."
I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture more intimate than I’d like it to be. "I can handle myself. And your brothers."
"You don't know them," she says, her voice dropping. "Benji especially. He's... he's not right. Hasn't been since our mom died."
"Tell me about them," I urge, realizing I need to know more if I'm going to confront them. "What am I dealing with here?"
Kelsey sets down her coffee, rubbing her arms as if suddenly cold. "Benji's the oldest. Thirty-two. He was our father's right hand for years, helping with the 'business.' After our father went to prison, he took over what was left. Mostly distribution networks, contacts. He's calculating, patient. Doesn't act out of anger—it's always about control."
She pauses, swallowing hard. "Craig's different. Twenty-nine. Follows Benji's lead, always has. He's the muscle—used to compete in underground fighting. Has a temper but isn't stupid. Won't make a move without Benji's say-so."
I process this information, filing it away for later. "And Sam? You mentioned he helped you."
Her expression softens slightly. "Sam's the baby. Twenty-four. Always had a conscience. He's the one who warned me to run from Bozeman. I don't think he's involved in finding me now. He'd never hurt me."
"And they're here in Chihuahua? You're sure that was Craig's truck?"
She nods, her eyes haunted. "I'd recognize it anywhere. Same model, same dent in the passenger door from when he backed into a fire hydrant a few years ago."
I wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against me. "They won't touch you. I promise."
She leans into me, her body warm against mine. "What happens now? With the club, I mean. With us."
"Now you stay where it's safe. Work at the café with protection. Let me and the club deal with your brothers."
"And us?" she presses, looking up at me with those whiskey-brown eyes. "What does claiming me really mean, Boulder?"
I hesitate, not sure how to answer.
The truth is, I don't fully know myself.
Last night was an instinctive reaction—seeing her vulnerable, threatened, and deciding no one would hurt her on my watch.
The possessiveness I felt was immediate and overwhelming.
"It means you're under my protection," I say finally. "That the club sees you as connected to me, which extends our resources to keeping you safe."
"And that's all?"
"For now," I murmur, not ready to think about how my feelings are growing for her. "Let's focus on keeping you alive first. We can figure out the rest as we go."
She nods, accepting this answer for the moment. "I should call Astra. She'll need to know why I'm not at work today."
"Already handled," I tell her. "Amara called her after the meeting. You've got a few days off while we assess the situation. After that, you'll go back with protection—probably me or Brick shadowing you."
"So, I'm just supposed to sit here and wait?" she asks, frustration creeping into her tone.
"For today, yes. We need to sweep the café, make sure it's secure." I stand, offering her my hand. "But that doesn't mean you're a prisoner. Come on, let me show you around the compound. If you're staying here, you should know how things work."
She takes my hand, allowing me to pull her to her feet. "Lead the way, prospect."
The next hour is spent giving Kelsey a tour of the clubhouse—the main room, the kitchen, the secure areas, the garage where we work on bikes.
I introduce her to the few members who are around, watching how they assess her with curious eyes.
Word travels fast in the club.
By now, everyone knows I've claimed her, and I can see the surprise on some faces.
I've made no secret of my views on old ladies and commitment, so this sudden change has raised some eyebrows.
Kelsey murmurs as we head back toward the main building. "They're all staring at me."
"They're staring at us ," I correct her. "I'm not exactly known for bringing women home. Let alone claiming one."
"Should I be flattered?" she asks, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
"Very," I respond, finding myself grinning back. "I'm quite the catch, Montana."
Her laugh is soft but genuine, and the sound does strange things to my insides.
We're approaching the entrance when Brick jogs up, his expression serious. "Boulder, we've got a location on the brothers. They're staying at the Hotel Mirador downtown. Zorro wants us to check it out."
Kelsey tenses beside me, her hand finding mine and squeezing tight. "You're going to confront them?"
"Just reconnaissance," I lie smoothly, giving Brick a warning look. "Need to know who we're dealing with."
She doesn't look convinced. "Boulder, please be careful. Benji is?—"
"I know," I cut her off gently. "You've told me. This is just information gathering, nothing more."
Another lie, but a necessary one.
I can't have her worrying—or worse, trying to interfere.
I've seen enough club members with overprotective old ladies to know how that ends.
"I'll get geared up," Brick says, taking the hint and backing away. "Meet you at the bikes in ten."
I turn to Kelsey, taking both her hands in mine. "I'll be back before you know it. Stay here. Astra's coming by later to keep you company."
She nods, though anxiety still clouds her eyes. "Just... come back in one piece, okay?"
The concern in her voice sends a wave of warmth through me.
When was the last time someone worried about whether I came back?
Even Joslynn has gotten used to my lifestyle, the constant danger.
On impulse, I lean down and press my lips to hers.
It's not our usual heated, desperate kiss—this is something softer, a promise.
She responds immediately, one hand coming up to cup my cheek, her body melting against mine.
When I pull back, her eyes remain closed for a beat longer, her lips still slightly parted. "What was that for?" she asks, her voice husky.
"Luck. I'll see you soon."
Twenty minutes later, Brick and I are parked across from the Hotel Mirador, a mid-range establishment popular with tourists and business travelers.
Nothing flashy, but clean and anonymous—perfect for someone wanting to blend in.
"You sure about this, brother?" Brick asks as we survey the entrance. "Amara said observation only."
"We are observing," I say, scanning the parking lot for the black Ford truck Kelsey described.
I spot it near the back, partially hidden by a delivery van. "Just up close and personal."
Brick sighs but doesn't argue further.
Right now, his loyalty is to me as his brother, even if he thinks I'm crossing a line.
We enter the hotel lobby, keeping our cuts visible but not acting threatening.
The desk clerk eyes us nervously as we approach.
"Need some information," I say, keeping my voice casual. "Two guys staying here—brothers. One tall, dark hair, early thirties. Other similar looking, but built like a fighter. Probably checked in last week."
The clerk hesitates, his gaze flicking to our cuts. "I can't give out guest information. Company policy."
I lean forward slightly, not threatening but intense. "Not asking for room numbers or personal details. Just confirmation they're staying here. It's important."
Brick slides two folded thousand peso notes across the counter, his expression neutral. "For your trouble."
The clerk glances around, then takes the money with a quick nod. "Room 312. Checked in three days ago. But I didn't tell you that."
"Tell us what?" I reply, already heading for the stairs rather than the elevator.
Less chance of being trapped.
We reach the third floor and move silently down the hallway.
Room 312 is midway down, nothing to distinguish it from the others.
"What's the plan?" Brick whispers, one hand resting inside his cut where I know he keeps his gun.
"We knock. Talk like civilized people." I check that my own weapon is accessible. "Let them know Kelsey has club protection now."
"And if they don't want to talk?"
"Then we're less civilized."
I approach the door and knock firmly, three solid raps.
There's movement inside, a muffled voice, then silence.
I knock again, louder.
"Hotel management," I call plastering on a thick Mexican accent, figuring they'll open for that.
The door cracks open, a security chain still in place.
A face appears in the gap—early thirties, sharp features, dark eyes that assess me coldly.
This must be Benji.
His eyes narrow when he sees my cut. "You're not management."
"No, I'm not," I agree, keeping my tone neutral. "I'm here about your sister."
Something flickers in those dark eyes—surprise, then calculation. "Don't have a sister anymore. Not since she betrayed the family."
"Funny, because she's very much alive. And now she's under my protection. Club protection."
The door closes, then reopens fully.
Benji Warlow stands before me, dressed casually in jeans and a button-up shirt.
He looks like any other businessman—no visible tattoos, clean-cut, nothing to suggest the monster Kelsey described.
But his eyes give him away—cold, predatory, assessing.
Behind him, a larger man lounges on one of the beds, muscular arms crossed over his chest.
Craig, I assume.
The fighter. His build reminds me of a heavyweight boxer gone slightly to seed, but still dangerous.
"Reapers Rejects MC," Benji says, reading my cut with a smirk. "Didn't know my sister was into bikers now. Seems she'll do anything to feel safe."
I keep myself calm, even though all I want to do is smash his head into the wall. "Whatever history you have with her, it's done. She's claimed now. That means you come near her, you deal with me. And the entire club."
Craig snorts from the bed. "Hear that, Benj? Little sister's got herself a guard dog."
"Family business is family business," Benji says, his voice reasonable, almost pleasant. "This doesn't concern your club. Cady betrayed blood. That debt gets paid."
"Her name is Kelsey now," I correct him, "and you're in club territory. Everything here concerns us. Especially anyone threatening what's mine."
Benji studies me, his head tilted slightly. "You don't look patched in to me, prospect. Playing at being a big man with my sister won't earn you that."
"Patched or not, I have the full backing of my charter. You want a war with the Reapers Rejects, keep pursuing her. Otherwise, pack up and head back to Montana."
Craig rises from the bed now, moving to stand beside his brother.
Up close, I can see the family resemblance between them and Kelsey—same shaped eyes, similar jawline.
But where her face shows compassion, theirs hold only cold calculation.
"And if we're not just here for her?" Benji asks, his tone almost conversational. "Maybe we have business in Chihuahua. Maybe your little club is interfering with that."
"Then you should have checked who runs this city before setting up shop," Brick interjects, speaking for the first time. "Because it sure as hell isn't you."
There's tense silence, the air heavy with unspoken threats.
I keep my eyes locked on Benji's, refusing to back down.
Finally, he smiles—a cold, empty expression that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll take your message under consideration, prospect. Family matters are... complicated. As I'm sure you understand."
"Nothing complicated about it," I respond. "Stay away from Kelsey, or there will be consequences. That's the only warning you get."
I step back from the doorway, signaling the conversation is over.
But as I turn to leave, Benji calls after me.
"Did she tell you everything, prospect? About why she turned on us? About what she stole before she ran?"
I don't take the bait, don't even slow my pace.
But the questions echo in my mind as Brick and I head back down the stairs.
What hasn't Kelsey told me?
What else could there be beyond the horror she's already shared?
We exit the hotel in silence, only speaking once we're on our bikes, engines rumbling beneath us.
"That went well," Brick comments dryly. "You think they got the message?"
I stare back at the hotel, uneasiness settling over me. "They heard it. Whether they'll listen is another matter."
"Those aren't the kind of men who back down easily," Brick comments. "Especially the older one. Something is off about his eyes."
"Yeah," I agree, thinking of Kelsey's warnings about Benji. "We'll need to keep close watch on them."
As we ride back to the clubhouse, my mind begins rolling.
This isn't just about protecting Kelsey from threats—it's about navigating her past, the secrets she may still be keeping, and my own growing feelings for a woman I claimed on impulse.
The weight settles heavier on my shoulders with each mile. But strangely, it doesn't feel like a burden I want to shed.
For the first time in my life, I understand why a man might choose to be weighed down by someone who matters more than his own freedom.